


You Are This Love

by BlueRobinWrites



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Cornwall Trip, Denmark Street Discord Sekrit Santa 2020, F/M, I ran out of time, multi chapter fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRobinWrites/pseuds/BlueRobinWrites
Summary: Merry Christmas @pools!I decided to post this one, though it's unfinished, because I was hoping that posting it would push me to finish it. 👀This one is going to fulfill two of your prompts and this couple of chapters should give you a clue as to which ones.I hope you like it. Merry Christmas.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott & Jonathan Ellacott, Ted Nancarrow & Cormoran Strike, Ted Nancarrow & Robin Ellacott
Comments: 17
Kudos: 62
Collections: Denmark Street Discord Sekrit Santa 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pools_of_venetianblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pools_of_venetianblue/gifts).



Thanks again, Robin,” he said, as they strapped on their seatbelts, her hand turning the key in the ignition. 

“It’s not a problem,” she said with a grin. “I like Ted.”

“Well, I can promise he definitely feels the same way,” Strike grinned. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since Christmas.”

“Dear man,” her face went soft. “He was so kind and lovely, it was impossible not to enjoy spending time with him really.”

“Considering he asks about you every time we talk,” he cleared his throat before putting on a passable imitation of his elderly uncle’s voice. “‘ _And how’s your Robin?’_ I swear, if he was just a bit younger he’d try to court you.”

“If I was a bit older I might let him,” she chuckled with a wink as she glanced into the wing mirror on his side of the street, before easing into traffic. “I’m excited to spend a weekend doting on him, so you should prepare yourself for more laudations of my person.”

“Noted. Not that I mind them, mind you,” he laughed, hand going to the window, “ Do you…?”

“Have I ever told you no?” she asked, with her eyebrow raised.

“Well, no,” his brow quirked. “But it’s polite to ask.”

“Go for your life,” she waved a hand, eyes trained on the road as they merged onto the M4.

“Cheers.”

He smoked in silence as she drove, overtaking cars and easing into her now familiar pattern of driving. She was truly the only person he was entirely comfortable riding with now. Four years of her driving had eased him back into being able to nap on a road trip. 

He just wished he was able to share the driving duties, but with his car at the mechanics, due to a blown valve cover gasket and him being due to drive down and help his uncle sort through the last of his workshop belongings, he’d had to call on Robin to see if she’d be willing to drive him down and spend the weekend in Cornwall. 

Now, riding alongside her, music playing softly from the radio, barely audible over the rattle of the ancient truck, he admitted to himself that he was looking forward to showing her around what he considered his hometown. She’d joked that her “price” for being his chauffeur this weekend would be dinner and drinks in his “real local” and he’d laughingly agreed. In fact, adding a memory of Robin sitting across from him in The Victory was something he was looking forward to being able to add to the rest of the memories he’d collected of her. He didn’t allow himself to dwell too long in them, but they were nice to ruminate over when he couldn’t sleep at night. 

“Oh I love this song,” she said, interrupting his thoughts and reaching to turn the radio up, eyes remaining on the road in front of her, and suddenly the cab of the truck was filled with airy piano and guitars, surrounding a female voice, raised just above a whisper, singing about hearing things in silence, and seeing things with the lights out. 

_“You’re in love...True love...you’re in love,”_ the lovely voice was singing. He could see Robin’s mouth moving along with the words and wondered, briefly, what her singing voice might sound like. He’d heard her humming occasionally in the office, as she was making tea or building a case file, but he’d never actually heard her sing anything. He wondered if he’d be able to hear her if the truck hadn’t been so loud around them, or if she was just mouthing the words under her breath. He watched her covertly, enjoying the look of her, happy and smiling, catching his eye and looking away with a grin. 

However, the music faded, replaced by, surprisingly, a familiar voice. 

“You like Tom Waits?” he nearly shouted over the music.

She nodded, “I do. I’d never listened to him until I was trying to track down your Christmas present last year. He’s different, but he grew on me,” she glanced at him, with a cheeky grin. 

“He’s brilliant,” he rejoined. “Who was that before though?”

“Oh. Taylor Swift?” she looked nonplussed.

“Was it really?”

“Have you never heard her before?” she sounded shocked. 

“At a guess, I’d say no. I’m sure I have, but not deliberately.”

“She’s become one of my favorites,” Robin sighed. “She writes so plainly, but evocatively. Actually,” she quirked her brow. “You being a Waits fan, you’d probably quite like her lyricism.”

“I liked that song, or rather, what I heard of it,” he shrugged, though he thought that some of that may have been due to the way his partner had looked while singing it. 

“That’s from her most recent album, which, admittedly, I’ve spent a lot of time listening to,” she glanced over again. “Max is also a fan,” she added laughing.

“I see.”

“And, well, some of the songs spoke to me.”

“That’s one of the best things about music, isn’t it?” he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket again. “It’s a language we all speak.”

They lapsed into silence, allowing Joni Mitchell to fill the space between them as he lit a fag and took a drag before pulling his phone out, Googling Taylor Swift, finding her most recent album at the top of the list of results. Looking at the track listing, he reasoned that the song he was looking for must be the one titled _You Are In Love_ , and he looked up the lyrics for it, confirming his hunch, and almost immediately recognizing what Robin had meant when she’d said she wrote plainly, but evocatively. 

The lyrics were simple, but even reading them made him feel as though she’d been in his head. The tiny moments at the start of a relationship, the glances, the touches, the moments spent together, all relatable, familiar. 

Certainly there had been countless times he’d felt something in the silences between himself and the woman seated next to him. Something that felt like more than a silence. She was fluent in silence, Robin. It was one of the things he valued most about her. But there were also the lines about glances meant just for the other person and the brief moments of her hand on his shoulder as she read his computer screen over his shoulders, or when she’d touch his hand to gain his attention in a social gathering. Not to mention the line about best friends. 

That line had caught his attention as soon as he’d heard it. Recalling the evening they’d spent sitting in the dark of the office, her eyes darkening to a horrible shade of purple after his elbow had struck her forehead accidentally. Whisky in tumblers and things that had never been said before being shared. 

_“My best mate...is you.”_

And he’d known in that moment of admission that things had changed. He’d felt the shift in his chest and in the air around them. But in the months following, he’d hesitated toward any overt action toward romance with his partner. He supposed he was gauging her, waiting to be certain that the things he felt for her might be reciprocated. The evening they’d spent together at the Ritz, her drinking champagne, her skin glowing in candlelight as she’d smiled at him over the rim of her flute of fizzing wine, the second bottle he’d ever bought for her, had been another turning point. One, after which, he was almost certain that she felt something close to the emotions he’d tried, unsuccessfully to suppress. 

He felt the spot on his cheek, where she’d deliberately pressed her lips that evening, warm with remembrance. It had been her first initiation of such affection. He’d pressed his lips to her skin three times in the four years they’d known each other. Once to the back of her hand, once on her cheek upon her arrival to the outing he’d planned for her birthday this past year, and once to her lips, though accidentally, as he’d meant to kiss her cheek. But that kiss, outside Liberty on her birthday, had been the first time she’d laid her lips to his skin, and he’d had a hard time focusing on anything but the way that spot had burned with tingles and warmth for hours after. 

He closed the window, Elbow now chanting about _One Day Like This_ and he wondered if she’d built this playlist specifically for this road trip, tailoring it to what she knew of his musical tastes. He knew, instinctively that there’d be nothing from The Deadbeats on the radio today, whether or not she’d created the list with their mutual enjoyment of it in mind, and that thought warmed him immeasurably. 

“Tea?” he asked, twisting to reach for the bag she’d packed with their customary road trip snacks and drinks.

“Go on then,” she nodded, before moving her lips again, singing along with a new song, he was now sure was also being sung by Taylor Swift. As he pulled out the flask, pouring out two cups of tea for them, the singer’s voice echoed, singing about someone being gone and gone, dreams, and love, again. 

He pulled out his phone once more, after handing Robin’s tea to her, scanning the track listing again, determining that based on what he’d heard, this song was likely one called _This Love_ , and he pulled up the lyrics for it as well. As he read along as the wistful voice sang about letting a love go and having it come back, a good love, a bad love, and one coming back from the dead, he thought of Charlotte. 

The times he’d let her go, at her own request, only to have her come back, and how he’d always accepted it, thinking it was just the nature of their brand of love. The passionate back and forth that had made their bed sport so enticing, playing out outside the sheets. Dynamic and occasionally violent. But always, always, there. She’d been like ocean waves certainly, sometimes calm and tranquil, but most of the time there’d been a deceptive current running through, ready to drag him out to sea again, storming around him, a hurricane of anger and recriminations. She’d been a siren, ready to scream her fury down on him.

 _This love is bad._ And it had been. 

But there was also a thread of what he felt for Robin in this song. He’d let her go, quite literally, firing her, out of anger, at her actions with Brockbank, but also he now recognized, because he’d been angry that she’d gone back to Matthew, choosing him over what he himself had sensed they might potentially be together. 

He Looked over at her as he heard the turning signal begin to click. “Need the loo,” she said, by way of explanation. 

“What about petrol?”

“Could do.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Cheers,” she grinned at him as she walked toward the shop and he sensed it was a subtle tease over his frequent use of the word. 

“Cheeky,” he called after her, receiving a smirk over her shoulder in return. 

Within moments she was back at the side of the truck, carrying two paper cups of coffee and a sack of pastries for them to share. “One black coffee and a cheese danish for you.”

“Cheers,” he intoned gravely, making her laugh. 

“You say it all the time, Strike,” she grinned as she lifted her cup for a sip. 

“Habit.”

“Obviously,” she winked as she stepped over the pump hose and opened the drivers door, climbing inside. 

He finished at the pump, screwed on the cap and joined her in the cab, delighted to see she’d already made a start on her own danish. He reached into the waxed paper bag for his own and settled in for the rest of the drive, munching happily and enjoying the music he was now certain she’d curated for both of them. 

  
  


A few hours later the Land Rover trundled over crushed shells along the drive to his childhood home. Ted must have seen them from the window because he stepped out the back door, waving, with a huge grin on his face. The truck had barely come to a stop before he had Robin’s door open and her enfolded in his long arms. Strike grinned, seeing his uncle just as smitten with his partner as he was.

“Welcome to Cornwall my dear!” Ted was saying. “The fellas are excited to meet you this evening. I hope you don’t mind, but I promised I’d bring you to the pub for dinner so they can meet you.”

Strike, who was unloading their cases from the back of the truck, slammed the door shut and called out, “Prepare yourself Ellacott! Those salty dogs’ll be making eyes at you all afternoon.”

“‘Course they will,” Ted drew her hand through his arm, patting it where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “They’ve not seen anything this pretty since my Joanie left us, God rest her soul.”

“Oh stop,” Robin laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear with her free hand. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

“No it’s true,” Strike teased. “There’s no one in these parts to match your beauty. Not without Ilsa here to give you a run for your money.”

“Ilsa is a fair sight, it’s true,” Ted mused seriously. “But I wager our Robin would still turn more heads,” he looked down at her kindly as he squired her toward the back porch. “It’s the hair, my dear.”

While Ted ushered them through the door, Strike carried their cases through to the sitting room to be dealt with later. “Robin, unhand my uncle please,” he growled, though he knew his eyes were smiling. And as she stepped away, he clapped his arms around his uncle and held him tight. “Good to see you, Ted,” he said softly before pulling back a bit to take in the lined and weathered face he knew so well.

“And you, my boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Robin sat at the dining table, her laptop open in front of her. She was supposed to be researching details for an ongoing case, but instead her tea was going cold at her elbow and her mind wasn’t on her task as she watched, through the sliding doors beside her, as Cormoran carried boxes and light woodworking equipment from the large shed in the corner of Ted’s garden. 

After they’d settled into their respective rooms, they’d joined Ted for a cuppa, during which he’d mentioned that he’d been trying to sort through his workshop. “Odds and ends, you see,” he’d explained. “Things I don’t use anymore and should like to get rid of before…” 

She’d seen Cormoran’s brows lower, understanding what was being left unsaid and he’d laid his hand over his uncle’s offering to help him sort through the items he wanted to sell off or donate or give away. When her phone had chimed with a text from Barclay, she’d stepped out to call him and get her laptop, in case he needed her help with something and when she’d returned, he and Ted had been wandering toward the shed, leaving her to her own devices.

She allowed her eyes to follow the lines of muscle evident in Cormoran’s back as he hefted a table saw from a pair of sawhorses. He’d lost almost three stone in the last year, and she realized he was beginning to resemble more closely the Cormoran she’d see in pictures shown to her by Ilsa and even a few she’d seen in the hall on her way up to the room she was staying in this evening. Broad shoulders tapering to a trimmer waist, a stomach nearly flat and biceps that she was certain she’d not be able to wrap her hands around, should she be bold enough to try, which she wouldn’t. She was dismayed to feel the flush of embarrassment cresting in her cheeks at the mere thought of touching her partner in that way. 

But things had been quite different between them in the last few months. They’d celebrated their birthdays together, hers at the Ritz, a joke and a sweet gesture, all in one and his wandering the Imperial War Museum together so he could show her his favorite things about it. They’d both had dinner parties planned with their mutual friends and they’d both leaned on each other, relying on the other to fill in the gaps that a significant other would have filled. Though they’d not acknowledged those moments and there’d been not a whisper of impropriety. 

When Robin had declined to go home for Christmas, it had only been natural that she’d spend the holiday, instead, with Strike and his friends and family, having dinner on Christmas Eve with Nick and Ilsa and then Christmas dinner with Lucy, Greg, Ted and the boys. She’d enjoyed herself immensely, It had been restful and relaxing and most importantly, not filled with her family discussing the goings on between her ex-husband and his new and very pregnant fiancee. It had been nice, spending the day laughing at the children’s antics and sharing snippets from their most recent cases with Ted, Lucy and Greg. Jack had attempted to teach her how to play Minecraft, but she’d been hopeless, prompting gentle teasing from Strike and commiseration from Lucy. She’d felt at home and welcome, even if she’d caught Lucy eyeing every interaction between her and Strike with a knowing eye.

Cormoran disappeared back into the shed just as her phone signaled another incoming text. Assuming it was from Barclay again, she picked up her phone with a grin, only to discover a text from her youngest brother, Jonathan. 

_Hey Robs._

_Gonna b in London in 2 weeks._

_Can I stay with u again?_

Groaning with annoyance, she tossed her phone back down on the table and stood to reboil the kettle. The last time Jonathan had come to town to visit, he’d brought two of his friends from uni and what had been intended to be a calm dinner party had devolved into her brothers friends arguing with Strike over sex trade and the adult film industry. Her assault had been brought up and she’d learned that her brother had apparently shared the fact that she’d been assaulted with two strangers she’d never met before that night. 

She’d been humiliated and felt betrayed. And unlike her partner, who’d been belligerent at first, but had realized, upon sobering up, that he’d wronged her in many ways that evening and had manfully apologized, Jonathan had never intimated he was remorseful in any way. **< is this true>**

She couldn’t believe that he would dare to ask if he could stay with her again after the way he’d allowed his friends to treat her and her roommate Max the last time she’d allowed him to stay. But she also didn’t feel up to rejecting him completely. He was her little brother and she did love him. So, as she poured water over into three mugs, doctoring two of them to creosote, she decided to put him off for a bit. She carried the mugs back to the table, setting them down so that she could pick up her phone and send a brief text back to her brother. 

_Am away currently._

_Need to think about it._

_Will get back with you soon._

_R x_

Her phone chimed with a response before she could put it back down on the table. 

_What’s there to think about?_

_It’s a yes or no question._

_Either I can or I can’t._

It was typical of Jonathan, being the youngest, to think this way. While not exactly coddled, he had been a bit of a surprise for her parents, who’d thought Martin would be their last, and so he;d been raised as a semi only child, given attention and care that she’d had to compete with Stephen and Martin for as she’d grown up. She loved him, as she did all of her brothers, but of the three, he was the most likely to give the impression of entitlement. Taking a deep breath, knowing that she was opening a can of worms, but also unable to reconcile not holding him accountable for his last visit, she responded, 

_The last time I let you stay, you brought friends who imposed their dietary needs and argued about something that was inappropriate and incredibly uncomfortable, while guests in Max’s home._ _  
_ _Not to mention you haven’t apologized to me for telling complete strangers about my attack, which was none of their business._

_I’m not saying no. But I need to think about it._

_I hope you understand._

_R x_

Knowing Jonathan, she sent the text and waited for his response, which came momentarily. 

_You do remember that your Strike was arguing as well right?_

Having expected this, she had her response ready. 

_The difference, though, is that he apologized._

_You have not._

_Don’t push me._

_R_

And with that, she tossed her phone on the table and carried the three mugs of tea outside to the shed. She tried to smooth the annoyance from her expression as she went, but knew she hadn’t succeeded when Cormoran stepped out of the shed again as she approached, a large cardboard box in his arms. 

“You alright?” he asked, as he set the box down and came to take the two mugs of tea she was gripping by their handles from her right hand. 

“Jonathan texted. He wants to come stay again and I’ve put him off and he’s not happy about it. So I’ve made you and Ted some tea, and left my phone inside, and since Barclay doesn’t need me anymore, I’ve come to make myself useful,” she paused. “If I’m not imposing that is.”

“Of course not,” he reassured her, taking a sip of tea. “But…”

She cut him off, “He never apologized, Strike.”

“For Valentines Day?”

“For any of it,” she looked away, out over the waves crashing against the beach at the foot of the cliffs below Ted’s home. “They just woke up, packed up, and left the next morning and he never bothered to apologize.”

“Christ. I’m sorry, Robin.”

She glanced back at him, tucking her hair firmly behind her ear, “I know you are. But you apologized the next day so you don’t need to apologize again. He certainly does though.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Sure did. But he tried to slide if off onto you. Said, ‘Your Strike was arguing too’ but I told him that you’d apologized and he hadn’t. And then I brought you your tea because I don’t want to argue or be in a bad mood while we’re here for Ted.”

“Well come on back. He won’t let you lift anything heavy, but he’ll be happy with your company.”

She smiled at him before stepping forward and giving him a brief hug that he couldn’t return with his hands full of hot tea.

“Thanks, Cormoran.”

“I didn’t do anything, but I will gladly accept hugs and tea,” he said as she released him and turned toward the shed. “Shame you didn’t bring any biscuits though.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cormoran sat, tucked into a booth with his Uncle Ted beside him, a glass of Doom Bar in front of them both, and watched as Robin laughed at the story Branock, one of Ted’s mates from the Lifeguard was telling. It was certainly a tall tale, about a whale of a fish, a dinghy, and a storm, but Robin was giving no sign that she was anything but believing. Her eyes widened at all the right spots, her gasps were perfectly timed, and her laughter was genuine. 

The sight of her, in his local, surrounded by faces he’d known his entire life, cemented what he’d already begun to suspect. 

He was in love with her. 

She glowed in the dim light, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, shining brightly against her navy blue knit jumper, a half empty glass of white wine in front of her. Her eyes occasionally met his across the table, sparkling with humor and something else he couldn’t quite define, but which he recognized because he felt it too. It was a kind of knowing, leavened with hesitation. 

As Branock continued, her phone, laying on the table beside her wine glass, lit up with an incoming call. He read Jonathan’s name, and watched as she reached for the phone, picking it up and holding it for a moment, as though unsure whether to answer or not. 

Just as he was sure the call was about to go to voicemail, her thumb swiped right, answering the call. She brought the phone to her ear and said, “Hey Jon. Can you hang on a mo’?” She turned to Branock, “I’m so sorry. I need to take this call, but I want to know what happened after you got the fish in the boat.” She glanced at Cormoran, tilted her head toward the door of the pub, and with Branock’s absent-minded nod and wave of assent, she took her wine glass and moved toward the door. 

“Everything all right?” Ted asked Cormoran, sotto voce.

“I think so. Just something she needs to discuss with her brother,” he answered, before offering an opinion on Arsenal’s chances this season, which he knew would get the men debating loudly, allowing him to watch his partner covertly, as she paced the patio area on the other side of the wide window, for signs of distress. 

* * *

“Sorry Jon. What’s up?” Robin asked, as she stepped outside, into the chilly evening air. 

“Are you busy?” he asked. 

“Just having dinner and drinks. But I have a moment.” She gave a quiet sigh as she resigned herself to having to make a decision she hadn’t quite settled on yet. 

“You sure?”

“What do you need, Jon?” she asked with a trace of impatience. 

She’d spent the afternoon helping box up the contents of Ted’s shed, ruminating on the text conversation she’d had with her brother and had still not come to a firm decision. She knew that Max wouldn’t have an issue with Jon staying over for a day or two, despite what had happened the last time he’d visited. Max was lovely that way. But she still was unsure whether or not she wanted to be in the same space with her brother. She hadn’t realized she was still hurt over his cavalier treatment of her privacy until he’d reached out today. 

And while he was right, and Cormoran had argued and made a complete arse of himself that night, he’d not been the one to share her private trauma with complete strangers. Whatever else Cormoran had been or done, he’d always been respectful of the secrets she’d shared with him. Her assault, Matt cheating on her, both times, and her panic attacks. He’d never given any sign that he knew any of it, when anyone else was present. 

That Jon, her own brother, had discussed something so traumatic and devastating, with people she’d never met, who then used it in an argument on the same evening they’d met her, had hurt almost more than Matthew’s infidelity. Surely she should have been able to count on her brother respecting her enough to not discuss something so private with anyone outside the family. 

“I wanted to apologize,” came Jonathan’s voice down the line.

“Oh,” she started, before he cut across her, not realizing she’d been about to speak.

“I’m sorry for all of it Robs. I really am.”

“This isn’t just because you want a place to stay in London is it?” she asked mildly. 

“It’s not. Really. I already have a place to stay actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m going to stay with Bram’s brother at his flat.”

“Bram?”

“He’s a mate from uni. His older brother lives down in London and Bram’s coming with me, so he invited me to stay with them right after I texted you this afternoon,” he explained hurriedly.

“I see.”

“But I kept thinking about what you said, and you’re right, I should have apologized and I’m sorry I didn’t. I think,” he hesitated a moment. “I was embarrassed actually. Not just because of that, but also because it was clear after that, that Courtney wasn’t interested in me and I felt like an idiot.”

“Her loss,” Robin muttered, then smiled as she heard a soft chuckle. 

“Yeah, she and Kyle got together the next night,” he said. 

“I’m sorry, Jon.”

“Ah don’t be. They’ve already broken up. She made out with her roommate and didn’t invite Kyle to join in. Not sure I’d want to be involved in that actually.”

“Right,” Robin nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “Well…”

“I’m sorry though, Robin. I shouldn’t have told them about what happened to you. It was wrong and it was stupid and my only excuse is that I was an idiot and I wanted to sound informed. But it’s not informed and I shouldn’t have used your experience to make myself look better. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s all I have. And I’m sorry for everything that happened that night. I know you must have been embarrassed and I hope you’ll forgive me, though I’ll try to understand if you can’t.”

She blew out a breath, “You know I’m going to forgive you, Jonny.”

“But you don’t have to. I was wrong and I know it and I’m really sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

She turned, looking through the window, into the pub and caught Cormoran’s eye. He tilted his head in question and she felt her heart swell with affection for him. 

“I believe you. And thank you,” she said, softly, her eyes still holding Cormoran’s. 

“I love you, Rob.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“See you soon? I owe you lunch. Maybe you and Strike could meet up with me when I’m in Town?” Jonathan asked hesitantly. 

She grinned, arching a brow at Cormoran, who pulled a face and nodded his head toward the elderly gentlemen still arguing around him. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Great. I’ll text you when I get to Bram’s.”

“Okay,” she turned away from the window. “We’ll see you then.”

She lowered the phone, sliding it into her pocket, before tilting her head back to look up at the plethora of stars sprinkled across the sky. 

Waiting. 

Within a few breaths a blast of sound escaped the pub as the door opened behind her. 

There was a rustle, a scratch, the sound of an inhale, followed by an exhale and a cloud of smoke in her peripheral vision, just before the massive frame of her partner stepped up next to her. 

“Everything alright?” he asked, taking another pull from his cigarette. 

“Jon found somewhere else to stay,” she replied without looking at him. 

“Oh?”

“And he apologized for what happened at dinner,” she went on. “For the argument and telling those two…” she trailed off. 

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Yeah. It was good,” she turned to him, the corner of her mouth lifting into a teasing grin. “We have to have lunch with him when he comes in.”

“ _We_ do?” he asked, his head tilting, lips quirking and dark eyes sparkling.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “His treat.”

“I never say no to free food,” he said with mock seriousness. 

“No you do not,” she laughed. “How’s it going in there?” she asked, nodding back at the pub. 

“Ted’s going to stay a little longer with Branock and the boys. He sent me out to check on you,” he paused, lifted an eyebrow at her. “See if you wanted me to walk you back.”

“Will he be okay?”

“Branock’ll see him home when they’re done carping about the footie. Plus, I think he wants a little bit to brag about you.”

“About me?” she asked, confused.

“Sure,” he laughed. “It’s not every day an old codger like Ted has a pretty girl making eyes at him across the table.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh stop,” she swatted him with the back of her hand.

“Loves a flirt, Ted does.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” she smiled softly. “You’re lucky to have him.”

“That I am,” he agreed as he stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting on the picnic table next to him. “Want to wander around a bit?”

“Let me go grab my jacket and say goodnight to Ted and the boys,” she turned toward the pub. 

“I’ll be right here.”


End file.
